The Roommates
by SpyKid18
Summary: Jesse temporarily moves in with the New York crew. St. Berry
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here's a new St. Berry story! I got the idea randomly and then sort of ran with it. I hope you enjoy it!**

Chapter One

She ran into him at Neiman Marcus. He was standing beside a table of ties that were displayed more for art than actual viewing. She watched as he tried unsuccessfully to pull one out. He gave the tie a hearty jerk and it came free of the masses, but not before trailing a good five or six ties with it onto the ground. She laughed despite herself, covering her hand with her mouth. He heard her laugh and glanced up, eyes widening when they met hers.

Her legs took her over to the table of their own accord. He made some lame of-all-the-department-stores joke, and she smirked as she crouched down and helped him pick up the ties. Her hand brushed his when they reached for the same tie and she pulled back quickly, standing up.

"Thanks for the help," Jesse said, laying the ties back on the table. He glanced at the salesperson that was watching them with a steely glare. "Although I'm pretty sure they're going to have a picture of me in the back with a strict no-service-policy."

Rachel followed his gaze and smirked. "I can't believe you're here," she said, gaze returning to him. "And that I ran into you. Talk about random."

He laughed. "It is, isn't?"

Rachel adjusted her purse on her shoulder. "What are you doing in New York?"

"What any other hopeful theater kid is doing in New York," he returned easily. "Congratulations, by the way. I heard about Funny Girl."

"Thank you," Rachel said.

"I wasn't surprised, of course. You were born to play Fanny Brice."

She felt herself flush, just as she always did at his compliments. There was something about him that had always disarmed her, for better or worse, and time had done little to dull his effect on her.

"So, what about you? Are you working on anything in particular?"

He shrugged. "Just the usual auditioning."

She thought of the boy she'd known at McKinley, and how he was so sure of everything. This man in front of her was entirely different. The trademark arrogance was absent, and she couldn't decide if she missed it or not.

"Hey, are you doing anything right now?" he asked suddenly.

"Right now? Um, no. Just, you know, shopping. But I can put that on hold."

He grinned. "Are you in the mood for some coffee?"

She nodded, grabbing at the strap of her purse. "Yeah. Coffee sounds good."

That chance run-in was two weeks ago, and Rachel and Jesse had fallen into a fairly comfortable routine of "running into" each other all around the city. They ran into each other for lunch one day. They ran into each other at a museum another day. He happened to show up outside of the Eugene O'Neil theater after her rehearsal, and since neither had eaten dinner it only made sense that they stop by her favorite falafel place down the street. And at that dinner they both realized that they'd somehow fallen into a friendship.

"Wait, so you guys are friends?" Kurt asked, sitting at the kitchen table while Rachel cooked some french toast for breakfast. "You and Jesse St. James are friends."

"Yes, that's what I said," she returned methodically, flipping the french toast. "We're friends."

"But you were never friends," Kurt pointed out. He paused to take a sip of coffee and then continued. "You were boyfriend and girlfriend. And then you were enemies. And then you were whatever the hell you were junior year-"

"That was all before," Rachel interrupted, sliding the French toast onto a plate. "Yes, we have a complicated past, but things are different now. We were young and full of drama-"

"You're still full of drama," Kurt intoned. She gave him a look as she set a plate in front of him. "Oh come on, you almost killed Santana last night for putting your Evita CD in the Phantom case."

"That's because CDs belong in their actual cases, not just the closest empty one," Rachel said, sitting down across from him.

"I'm just saying you should be careful," Kurt said. "You don't always make the best decisions when it comes to Jesse."

"We're just friends," Rachel said. "What sort of decisions do you think I'll be making?"

"Friendship is just the first step to something more," Blaine said, walking out of Kurt's bedroom. Rachel frowned and said, "I'm regretting letting you stay with us."

Blaine walked past her to the coffee machine and patted her shoulder. "Kurt and I thought we were just friends."

"Kurt also wanted to get in your pants the moment he saw you." She glanced over at Kurt and added, "No offense."

"None taken," he returned easily over the rim of his coffee cup. He turned his gaze to his fiancé and said, "She's right. I did want to get in your pants the moment I saw you. But –" he returned his attention to Rachel, "- you were the exact same way with Jesse."

"I was not," Rachel said. "I was using him to make Finn jealous." She darkened a bit at the mention of Finn, but then quickly added, "Jesse and I are completely different than you and Blaine."

Kurt scrunched his eyebrows together and said, "Um…rival schools. He joins New Directions because of you – granted that was a lie, but I personally think you were an ulterior motive. _Ridiculous _musical chemistry. You're basically Blaine and I."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said airly, although her stomach was heavy with the truth of what he had just said. On paper, they did sound surprisingly like Kurt and Blaine. But that was just ridiculous. Blaine and Kurt were in love. They were going to get married. Her and Jesse…it was completely different.

"Well, I can't exactly go ahead and de-friend him in life," Rachel finally said, shoving a forkful of French toast into her mouth. Through a full mouth she said, "So, you're just going to have to deal with it."

"Oh, I'll deal with it just fine," Kurt said. He paused for a moment and then said, "It's the fiery Latina roommate you're going to have to worry about."

Rachel frowned. "We can't just not tell her?"

"Roommates don't have secrets. We made that pact, remember?" he said slowly, giving her a meaningful look that made her frown. She remembered the pact. She also remembered the empty bottle of wine and searing hangover.

"We made that pact with an entire bottle of wine. Wine-induced pacts do not count!"

"She's going to find out anyway," Kurt said. "And if you don't tell her, she'll just end up making a whole big deal out of it. And, it's not a big deal, right?"

"Right."

He leadingly began, "I mean, if it's more than friends, than yeah, you'd have something to worry about. But just friends…"

"Fine, I'll tell her. It's no big deal, okay?"

Kurt smirked. "Okay."

* * *

Rachel really didn't understand why she had to go around announcing her and Jesse's friendship. Sure, they had a history. And it was one her friends had to live through. And then live through her complaining about. But, seriously, she was a grown woman. She was allowed to choose her friends without anyone's opinion.

Surprisingly, Santana had no opinion.

"Whatever," she said, shrugging as she stepped past Rachel toward the kitchen. They were at work and Rachel told Santana about her and Jesse's friendship during their break.

"Hold on, whatever?" Rachel said, turning on her heel and following Santana into the kitchen. "That's all you have to say?"

Santana tied her apron behind her waist and turned to Rachel, hands plants on her waist. "Okay, contrary to what you think, Berry, the world does not revolve around you and whatever weirdos you decide to hang out with. If you want to be friends with St. James, then be friends with him. I really don't give a crap."

"Oh, okay," Rachel said, not realizing until then just how much she had been dreading Santana's reaction. "That's…good. That's very good."

"Of course, if you two start sucking face it's going to have to be a strictly in-your-room-thing. I really don't want to walk in on that. You and your gigolo was bad enough."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm going back to work now."

* * *

Jesse showed up at the end of her shift. He walked into the diner, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black pea coat. Santana caught his eye and wiggled her fingers at him before disappearing into the kitchen. Rachel walked over, easy smile in place as she said, "I thought you said you had a work thing tonight."

They had previous plans for dinner, but he'd called to say that something came up and they'd rescheduled.

"Yeah, there's been a change of plans," he said. "Are you free?"

"Yeah," she said. "Let me just get my stuff."

He nodded and she walked into the backroom where the lockers were. She quickly grabbed her purse and coat and walked back out into the restaurant. He had sat down at one of the booths and was looking through the menu. His face was serious, as if he were reading some piece of literature, and she smirked as she sidled up to the table.

"Do you find our menu interesting?"

"All of the food is named after Broadway stars or shows," he said in a tone of disbelief.

She laughed. "Yeah. That's sort of the point of the diner."

He pointed at the menu and said, "There's a dish called Spring-Rolls Awakening."

She held back laughter and told him, "Yeah, they're not that good. Although the peanut dipping sauce is amazing."

"I can't believe I've never been to this place," he said, shaking his head as he placed the menu back in the napkin holder moonlight as a menu-keeper at the side of the table.

"We can stay here if you want," she suggested.

"No, it's fine. You've probably eaten here a hundred times," Jesse said, beginning to stand.

"No, I hardly ever eat here," she told him. "I pretty much just do my shift and leave. I don't mind staying. I've always wanted to try the Sutton Foster Fajitas."

He grinned. "Alright, we'll eat here."

* * *

The Sutton Foster Fajitas ended up being just as good as Rachel heard. She ate nearly her entire plate, and leaned back in the booth with her hand on her belly. "I can't believe I ate all of that. I think there was enough food there for a family of four."

Jesse laughed. "I have to say, I'm impressed. You really went to town on those fajitas. I don't think I've seen such determination since your Nationals performance."

"They were good fajitas. How about your Man of La Mancha Burger?"

"It's good," he said. "I'd never think to put avocado on a burger. Now, I can't imagine one without it!"

Rachel nodded heartily. "It's one of our bestsellers."

"I can see why," Jesse said noncommitally. "Anwyay, I actually came here tonight to ask you something."

She felt her stomach twist as she thought of her conversation with Kurt and Blaine that morning. But they were wrong, she reminded herself. Pushing away all thoughts of the prior conversation, she set her most neutral face and said, "What's up?"

"There's a gas leak in my building. They just found it last night, and they want all of us out of the building while they're checking it out. Is there any chance I could stay at your place for a few days?"

She blinked rapidly, trying to come up with an answer. Of all the things she thought Jesse would ask her, temporarily moving in had not made even the top five.

"Um, I'd have to talk to Kurt and Santana first-"

"Of course," Jesse said immediately. "And I'd pitch in for the few days I'm there. I'd buy my own food. Do the dishes. That sort of thing."

She nodded blindly and said, "Yeah, let me just talk to them. It should be fine, though. I mean, it's only a few days, right? A few days can't hurt."

* * *

While part of Rachel secretly hoped Kurt and Santana would have some trouble with Jesse staying with them, neither cared. As long as it was just for a few days, both of them said it was completely fine. Rachel took this as further proof that him crashing on their couch wasn't a big deal, but there was still a part of her that felt marginally uncomfortable.

But she had given Jesse a tentative yes, contingent on Kurt and Santana's approval. And with their approval, there really was nothing stopping Rachel from calling Jesse and telling him he was more than welcome to their couch for a few days.

He showed up later that afternoon with a suitcase and a few bags. She'd taken a few blankets from her bedroom and had them stacked on the side of the couch. She told him that she had more if she needed them, and he laughed and told her that there were enough blankets there for subzero temperatures.

"I just want you to be comfortable," she said.

"I'll be fine."

"You're here," Santana said, strolling out of her bedroom.

"Hi Santana," Jesse said with an easy grin that the Latina did not return. "How are you?"

"Good, so some ground rules for you using our couch. Fold up those blankets every morning. If you finish the coffee in the morning, I will crazy murder you in your sleep. Oh, and, if you want to bring a girl back here, think again and go to her place. Understood?"

"Understood," Jesse said, smile faltering. "So, what exactly does 'crazy murdering' entail?"

Santana grinned evilly and said, "I'd rather leave it a vague threat right now. Packs more of a terrifying punch."

"Okay then," Rachel said loudly, taking a hold of Jesse's arm and steering him toward the kitchen. "So, how about a little tour of the apartment?"

"She's more terrifying than I remember," Jesse said in a low voice.

"I'm really sorry about that," she returned in like. "She's just…yeah. Anyway, this is the kitchen. It's where we do our eating and I attempt to my cooking."

Jesse smirked. "Good to know."

She pointed at the doors on the other side of the room and said, "That first door is my bedroom. The next one is Santana's-"

"Which you don't enter under any circumstances," Santana added.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jesse returned.

"And, um, the last one is Kurt and Blaine. The bathroom is over there. And, that's about it."

Jesse nodded, grinning down at her. "That was a very thorough tour. Thank you."

She smiled a bit. "It's not much, but it's home."

"It's great," he said genuinely. "And thank you again for letting me stay. I don't know what I would have done if you guys had said no."

"You don't have other friends?" Santana said. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Santana," Rachel hissed under her breath. For someone who had been so fine with him moving in, Santana was being remarkably uncivil.

"I have other friends," Jesse returned calmly. "But they all live in shoebox apartments that can barely hold them."

Rachel's phone buzzed and she pulled it from her pocket, swearing under her breath when she saw her director's name flashing on the screen.

"Crap, I'm late for rehearsal," Rachel said. "I'll be back around dinnertime."

"Alright," Jesse said.

Rachel went to leave, but then turned back and said, "Don't kill each other, okay?"

Santana sent Rachel a chesire grin and said, "I make no promises."

* * *

It was a long rehearsal that was peppered with too many mistakes on Rachel's part. She was distracted from all the Jesse stuff happening at her apartment and she kept missing her cues. She was relieved to step inside of her apartment and have some time to sort through everything happening in her life before the next rehearsal.

She stepped into the apartment and immediately recognized the pleasant aroma of a homemade meal. Jesse stood at the stove while Kurt and Blaine sat at the kitchen table, carrying on a casual conversation with the cook. He turned around and Rachel gaped at the apron tied around his waist. Jesse misread her expression and said, "You don't mind that I'm cooking, right?"

"No," she said immediately, shaking her head as she stripped off her coat. She tossed it on the couch. "What are you making?"

"Parmesan eggplant with pasta," Jesse said. "It's one of my specialties."

"I still can't believe you cook," Rachel said, stepping beside him at the stove. "It seems like such a non-Jesse-St-James thing to do."

He smirked. "I took some classes when I first moved down here. I ended up really loving them."

"It smells amazing," Blaine said.

"It really does," Rachel agreed.

"Well, I hope it tastes amazing, too. It'll be done soon."

"Great," Rachel said. "Do I have time to change before dinner?"

Jesse nodded and she walked over to her bedroom and shut the door behind her. She could hear the boys begin talking again, the conversation lazy and comfortable. She changed out of her rehearsal clothes to a pair of leggings and oversized sweater. Glancing in the mirror she pulled her hair up in a high bun and then shook it out again. She did that two more times before settling on her hair loose around her shoulders and walking back out into the kitchen. Everyone else was already seated at the table, Jesse placing the pan of eggplant parmesan in the middle of the table.

Never one to wait on ceremony, Santana dug into the food energetically. She took a bite of the eggplant parmesan and chewed thoughtfully. After swallowing she said, "Alright, St. James, if you keep cooking like this you can stay as long as you want."

He laughed. "Thanks Santana."

"This is really amazing," Blaine agreed. "What is in the breading? It's so flavorful."

Rachel watched Jesse recite the ingredient list of the breading while peppering in some cooking tips on how he got it so crispy. He felt her gaze and glanced over at her with a soft grin.

"Sorry, sometimes I go a little Iron Chef on people."

"So, what else can you make?" Santana asked, leaning forward. "Do you do desserts? Cupcakes? Cakes? Cake pops?"

Rachel watched Santana continue to ramble off foods and mumbled, "She's never going to let him leave this kitchen."

BBBBB

They all spent the night together after dinner watching bad reality TV and guessing which show they'd be most likely to end up on. Rachel was pegged as the quiet-but-secretly-crazy housewife on The Real Housewives of New York. Jesse was relegated to some indie reality show airing only online. Kurt chose Project Runway and Blaine created his own show where people battled over who wore bow ties the best. Everyone decided that Santana would land on the Bad Girls Club. Santana agreed.

Eventually sleep called to them and they all padded over to their respective rooms. Rachel changed into her pajamas and then paused as she climbed into bed. She glanced at her closed door, and after a moment of hesitation walked over and opened it, moving out into the living room. Jesse was stretched out on the couch with two pillows wedged under his head.

"Do you have enough covers and stuff?" she asked, hands clasped behind her back.

He raised himself up on to his forearms and said, "I do, thanks. This is the best outfitted couch in all of New York."

Rachel smirked. "We try. Well, good night. I'll see you in the morning."

She had already turned toward her room when she heard him call back, "Sweet dreams, Rachel."

**A/N: Do you guys like this? I hope you do, because I have LOTS of ideas for this one! There are many, many roommate shenanigans on the horizon for the New York crew. If you would like to see this continued, please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed that last chapter! I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I hope you like this one :D**

Chapter Two

Between school, work and rehearsals, Rachel felt as if she were a headless chicken, running around New York with a constant supply of honey, tea and throat lozenges. Pulling double duty with both school and Funny Girl, she'd been acutely aware of the need to preserve her voice. She couldn't let her schoolwork affect her Funny Girl rehearsals, or vice versa. She prided herself on being the consummate professional in both settings, and refused to be anything different. Still, even as she gargled salt water, avoided sick people like the plague they were, and adamantly got eight hours of sleep each night, she was no match for the ubiquitous head cold when it gripped her with its slimy germ-infested hands.

"Who finished the coffee?" Rachel said unhappily, turning toward the bowl of fruit to pick out a banana for her commute to school and sneezing violently. Santana, who was seated at the kitchen table with a suspiciously large mug of coffee, stared at Rachel and murmured, "Well, now I'm not eating any of that fruit."

"That's good considering you didn't buy any of it. I need my coffee," Rachel said, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist. "I slept terribly last night. I could hardly breathe, and then when I did breathe it just made me cough."

"Yeah, I heard that," Santana said, taking a sip of coffee. "As annoying as it was, still not as bad as what I usually hear from the other wall."

"Don't be mean just because you aren't getting any," Kurt said, walking into the kitchen. He glanced at the empty coffee pot and said, "Seriously, Santana, did you drink all the coffee?"

"No, St. James took most of it before he left for wherever the hell he goes at seven o'clock in the morning. If you ask me, an early departure like that is a little suspect."

"He had an audition," Rachel said, yawning wide. "And I'm making more coffee, Kurt, so if you wait a few minutes I can pour you a cup."

"Word of wise, Kurt, if you don't want to catch the plague that Berry has, I'd recommend you making the coffee."

"Good point," Kurt said, skirting past Rachel and taking the pot from her hand. He shooed Rachel away with his free hand. "You go sit on the couch where your germs can't reach us."

"I'm not even that bad," Rachel complained, although she dutifully went over to the couch and sat down. "Can you at least throw me a banana?"

Kurt reached in the basket and threw her one of the under ripe ones. She was going to ask for a different one, but then figured that it was fine since she really couldn't taste anything, anyway. She unpeeled it and took a bite. After swallowing the tasteless mush, she looked morosely at the rest of the banana she had to force down.

Blaine walked out of his and Kurt's bedroom and offered a casual wave to Rachel as he said, "Fresh coffee! Definitely pour me a cup."

"Get in line, mister," Rachel said, coughing loudly. "I'm up first."

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine this morning," Blaine returned cheerfully. "You know, if you're sick you really should be drinking tea, not coffee."

"I'm not sick!" Rachel held vehemently. "It's just allergies."

"It's the middle of winter," Santana said, raising her coffee cup for what Rachel viewed as a largely unnecessary gesture toward the window. "What the hell are you allergic to?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe your poor attitude?" Rachel shot back, voice hoarse.

"Maybe you're allergic to Jesse," Kurt added sensibly. He received looks from all three roommates and he quickly added, "I don't mean _him_ as a person. Maybe it's his cologne or whatever he washed his clothes in. Stuff like that happens."

"I'm not allergic to Jesse," Rachel said. "I think the apartment just needs a good cleaning. It's dusty."

"I refuse to clean," Santana piped in. "It plays too much into the Latina stereotype."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Santana?"

"Hey Kurt," Rachel interrupted loudly. "How's that coffee coming? Is it ready? Because I really need it to be ready!"

Kurt filled Rachel's to-go thermos with coffee and then brought it over, taking care to cover his mouth with his hand as he approached. Rachel scowled and took it from him as she muttered, "Seriously, you guys are overreacting. I'm fine."

She glanced at her phone and saw that she had only a few minutes before her usual bus stopped outside of the apartment. Quickly she gathered her things, the entire time feeling remarkably out of breath. Meanwhile the other three roommates sat comfortably in the kitchen, watching her rush. She glanced at them as she pulled on her coat and irritably said, "Don't you guys have anywhere to be?"

"I'm not meeting with my academic advisor until later," Blaine said.

Kurt piped in with, "Anderson cancelled dance practice" while Santana added, "I yelled at Murphy at work and he gave me the morning off."

"I hate all of you," Rachel murmured before leaving the apartment.

* * *

By the time her classes were finished, even Rachel had to admit that something was not right. The cough had turned thick and hacking, and her mild headache from the morning – which she originally attributed to lack of coffee – developed into an incessant pounding behind her eyes. She barely made it to rehearsal, and then was promptly sent home when the directors saw what terrible shape she was in.

Her director paid for a cab, saying that he didn't want his Fanny Brice to risk catching any other ailment on public transportation, and then she was schlepping up the steps, just the weight of her backpack making her slouch. It took her twice as long as usual to get up to the apartment, but she made it. There was at least that as she turned her key in the lock and staggered inside. Relief filled her as she felt the comfort of home surround her. And then Jesse walked out of the bathroom.

"Hey, you're back early," he said in greeting. He took stock of her bright pink nose and watery eyes. "And you look like hell."

"Gee thanks," she said unhappily. The relief from finally getting home seeped away quickly as she imagined rehearsal going on without her. "That's what every girl wants to hear when they walk into their home."

"Sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just…"

He trailed off and watched her drop her bag unceremoniously on the ground before plopping onto the couch like a sack of potatoes. She positioned herself somewhat on the couch lengthwise and then began to ineffectively try to kick off her shoes. He followed the movement of her feet for a minute and then stepped forward to the edge of the couch. As he crouched down he said, "Try not to kick me now, okay?"

"Stupid shoes," she mumbled, watching with hazy eyes as he untied each shoe and slipped it off.

"Hey, it's not their fault you didn't untie them first," he said with a slight grin.

"I'm missing rehearsal," she said morosely, flopping her arm over her eyes. He almost laughed at the dramatics, but as his head was in the direct firing line of her foot still, he abstained. "I've never missed rehearsal. Do you know my cab got in an accident on the way to the first rehearsal?" She paused for a hearty cough. "That didn't stop me. I paid the cabbie and hopped right out. I ran three blocks so that I wouldn't be late."

"You're clearly sick, Rachel. You belong at home resting. I'm sure your directors agree."

"They sent me home," Rachel said.

"See, that's what I mean! They want you to be healthy."

Rachel shook her head stubbornly. "This is how it starts, Jesse. They let you miss rehearsals. They give you a day off because they want you to rest your voice. Next thing you know your understudy is taking over your dressing room and gets top billing. They're going to replace me!"

"They're not going to replace you," Jesse told her. "You _are _Fanny Brice, Rachel. You always have been."

"They think I'm weak."

"No," he said slowly. "They think you have a really bad head cold and can't sing. They also probably don't want to get everyone else sick. They can work other scenes with you gone. But if you get the entire cast and crew sick, they're pretty much screwed."

Rachel sighed, turning on her side and wedging her hands under her cheek. What Jesse said made sense. Even in her feverish haze she saw the reason in what he said.

"No one will replace you, Rachel. No one can. You're irreplaceable."

"Thank you," she said in a small voice.

Content that he had at least stalled her hysterics for the time being, he rose to his feet and walked into the kitchen. From there he told her that he was making her a drink for her throat.

"It's a St. James specialty," he called out from the kitchen. "I had this all the time when I was sick growing up. It really helps with the sore throat."

She heard the microwave going and the soft clanks of metal against ceramic. He began rifling through cabinets and she propped herself up to see what he was looking for. She noticed that he was rummaging through their sparsely stocked liquor cabinet, and he pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He poured a healthy shot into what she assumed was a steaming mug of tea.

"You had this a lot growing up?" she asked dubiously.

He saw her gaze lingering on the liquor bottle and said, "Don't underestimate the healing properties of well-used whiskey."

"I'm concerned about your childhood."

He laughed, finishing the drink off with a glug of honey. He brought it over and handed it to her with a warning of, "Be careful, it's hot."

She took a dainty sip, and true to his word, the liquid was hot and burned as it slid down her throat. It tasted good, though. The tea was perfectly brewed and while she could taste the whiskey, it was tempered by the sweetness of the honey. She took another sip, this time taking a bit more, and felt the drink coat her throat.

"So, what do you think?" he asked. "It's pretty good, right?"

She nodded. "It's good. Thank you."

"Now, you should try to finish the whole thing and then get some sleep," he instructed. "And, not to be a germ-o-phobe, but you should probably do it in your own bed."

"You're right," she sighed. The couch really wasn't just a couch anymore. It was Jesse's makeshift bed, and she probably shouldn't sneeze and cough all over it. She handed him the mug wordlessly and sat up slowly, giving her head time to acclimatize to the new position before standing up. She went to take the mug but he nodded toward her bedroom and said, "I'll follow you."

She nodded a bit, some part of her turning all squirrely at the thought of Jesse St. James in her bedroom. But then he joked, "I don't want you tripping and spilling my masterpiece all over the floor."

She went to say that the odds of her tripping during the ten second trip to her bedroom was unlikely, but then she did, in fact, trip and he murmured, "See, that could have been disastrous."

"Oh shut up," she said weakly.

He placed the drink on her nightstand and then pulled back the covers as she climbed into bed. She pulled them up to her chin and turned on her side, burrowing her head in her pillow.

"Don't forget to drink that now," he said, gesturing toward the steaming mug. "You'll feel better."

"Okay, I will," she said hoarsely, eyelids already growing heavy. "Thanks again. You're…" she coughed, phlegm rattling in her throat, "… a trooper."

Jesse chuckled. "Yeah, get some rest now."

* * *

Rachel woke up a few hours later, the throbbing in her head subsiding at least a bit. She murmured something to herself, though, and realized with horror that she had completely lost her voice. She reached for Jesse's so-called miracle drink in a panic and downed the entire thing. While her throat definitely felt less scratchy, she still couldn't utter a peep.

She got out of bed and staggered out into the living room. Kurt and Blaine were on the couch, watching the latest episode of Greys Anatomy. They both looked at her and said hi, asking if she was better. Tears welled in her eyes and she shook her head, pointing at her throat.

"You can't talk?" Santana asked from the kitchen. "Well, dreams do come true."

"Ignore her," Kurt said flatly, but his tone became warmer as he added, "We brought you some lentil soup from Uncle Sal's. It's on the counter. It should still be warm."

She walked into the kitchen, shooting Santana a dirty look as she passed, and pulled the soup from its paper bag. She grabbed a spoon that was drying with a pile of silverware beside the sink and sat down at the kitchen table. She pried off the lid of the container and dug her spoon in, not wanting to eat but knowing that realistically she had no choice. The soup tasted just like she remembered, but she derived no pleasure from it.

The front door opened and Jesse walked in, his hair windblown and cheeks ruddy. He offered a general hello and then sat opposite Rachel at the table. He took one look at her and said, "You didn't finish the drink, did you?"

She glared at him and he said, "I told you to finish the drink."

She grabbed the pen at the side of the table and messily wrote on the paper bag:

_I'm going to have Santana crazy murder you_.

She pushed it toward Jesse and his eyes danced with mirth as he said, "Well, that's not very nice."

She sighed soundlessly, slouching in her seat. A few unexciting spoonfuls of soup later she grabbed the paper bag again and scrawled a quick message on it.

_How was your audition?_

She pushed it toward Jesse and he read it quickly before saying, "Good, I think. I saw the guy before me, and he was a train wreck. So, I'm feeling pretty good about it."

_What did you sing?_

He grinned a bit and said, "Bohemian Rhapsody."

She rolled her eyes, rightfully so, and he said, "I know, I know, but it's a good song! And it shows off my range."

"And brings memories of your douche-tastic past," Santana added from the living room.

Rachel quickly scrawled a message on the bag again.

_She has a point._

Jesse laughed. "Fine, then what should I audition with?"

Rachel considered that for a moment and then wrote down three potential songs.

_Moon River_

_Moving Too Fast_

_You Don't Know My Name_

Jesse didn't recognize the last song for a moment and then said, "Wait, _You Don't Know My Name_? The Alicia Keys song?"

Rachel nodded heartily as the Kurt and Blaine weighed in from the couch.

"Oh, great song," Blaine said. "A lot of soul."

"So much soul," Kurt agreed. "That would be a killer audition song."

Rachel gave him a "told you" look and he relented, "I'll admit it's a good song. But I don't really know if it's my style."

"I have to agree, soulless automaton," Santana chirped.

Rachel shook her head and quickly went to writing on the paper bag.

_It's the perfect audition song. Big range. Great story. Fantastic beat._

_Next audition – you HAVE to sing it._

She pushed the bag toward him and watched him expectantly as he read it. He chuckled and said, "Alright, I'll consider it. Now, eat more of your soup."

She grinned a bit and then stuffed a heaping spoonful of the soup into her mouth.

* * *

The next day Rachel woke feeling a bit better. Her headache was all but gone and while her voice wasn't strong, she was able to speak softly without it hurting or sending her into a coughing fit. She took the day off from school and work, and when she called her director he immediately told her to take another day to get her voice back. While the other roommates were off at school and work, Jesse stayed back to help take care of her. She told him that she felt bad for making him hang back with her, but she secretly liked it. There was something calming about his presence, and he made surprisingly tasty sick food.

Throughout the day she had three mugs of the famous St. James drink, and she could feel her strength returning. Over the next few days she steadily improved, and by the end of the week she felt like her old self. Her voice was nearly perfect and her cough could be kept at bay with just a few lozenges throughout the day. She went to school and easily sang through an entire rehearsal.

She returned home after rehearsal and stopped short when she heard loud hacking coming from the bathroom. She stepped around the couch and saw tissues strewn all over it. Jesse padded out of the bathroom, eyes puffy and nose inflamed. She winced a bit, knowing full well the root of his sickness.

"Well, you weren't exaggerating before," Jesse said hoarsely. "I feel like death."

"I know just what to do," she told him, taking off her coat and draping it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "One St. James specialty drink coming right up."

**A/N: I'd love your thoughts on this!**


End file.
